


This, too, was a gift

by Elle_Song



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Budding Love, Epistolary, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Letters, Minor Character Death, Modern Westeros, fictional war, some serious war-related themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11486283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Song/pseuds/Elle_Song
Summary: Lieutenant Brienne Tarth is a newly minted Seven Kingdoms soldier on her first assignment overseas. She and Jaime Lannister, corporate heir to the massive conglomerate Lannister Corp, have never really been friends. But when Jaime decides to become her pen pal as she goes abroad, the two grow closer through the written word than either could have imagined.





	This, too, was a gift

The Uses of Sorrow  
by Mary Oliver

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me  
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand  
that this, too, was a gift.

 

August 1st, 2017  
Dear Wench,

Trust you to be the only person anymore who asks for physical letters over the internet. If this was an email it would've reached you two weeks ago. Just saying. 

You might be wondering why I, reluctant acquaintance, previous bane of your existence, and general prat, am writing to you. When you left your contact info online for friends to become pen pals, I can’t imagine you were addressing your request to me.

I don’t really know why I'm writing this either. Perhaps I thought it would be nice to keep in touch while we are fighting our prospective wars - I, with my sister over our father's company, and you, on an actual battleground. Your struggles are so literal they certainly rub in the fact that mine are figurative. 

Knowing you, you are probably already sucking up to the brass. I hope you're making more friends than enemies - although a few rivalries can certainly spice up what sounds like a long mission. Hope you’re enjoying yourself out there.

Best,  
Jaime Lannister,  
Devilishly handsome King of Lannister Co. and aforementioned all-around prat

P.S. My return address is on this envelope. Take care of it, because I do expect to hear back.

 

 

August 23rd, 2017  
Dear Mr. Lannister,

I certainly did not anticipate hearing from you, but I am not displeased either. It sounds like your life is keeping you so busy that I'm surprised you found time for correspondence. If you do not write back to me I will understand. 

I'm currently in training, so I wouldn't exactly say my personal part in this skirmish has begun. If you read my last post, the one with this address at the end of it, then you probably know that I am part of a Seven Kingdoms peacekeeping force. Because of the sensitive nature of our mission we will not be allowed to communicate via tech. It's snail mail or nothing from here on out. We are a last minute security measure, here only for emergency intervention should this situation with the Dothraki go south. I hope my company is never called into action. I have plenty to work towards here at the base, anyway. 

As you accurately recall from our days at school together, I’m still a bit of a brownnoser. Why receive training from the best if you're only going to act too self-righteous to learn from them? One day I plan to do great things like they have, and observation is the first step. Recon, if you will. After all, didn't you learn business technique first from watching your father? That is what I want from General Stannis Baratheon, and if I have to run his errands to get there, I will. Pride is worth less than experience.

General Baratheon may seem a hardhearted man, but his strength of character is admirable. That is all I will venture to write on the subject at the moment. On principle, I try not to gossip, and in practice, any particularly juicy gossip would be unlikely to make it through the censors anyway. But I do feel I will learn much from General Baratheon, and I’m glad of this opportunity. With him at the helm, I believe the Dothraki skirmish will end quickly and fairly.

I hope that your affairs with your sister are beginning to resolve themselves. Surely Lannister Co., which I happen to remember seeing on the Fortune 500 list last year, can handle a little in-house competition. You must both wish for what’s best for your father’s legacy.

All the best,  
Lieutenant First Class  
Brienne Tarth

P.S. My name is not, never has been, and never will be, Wench. You are clearly holding onto too many outdated memories from the King’s Landing field.

 

 

September 15th, 2017  
Dear Ms. Tarth, 

If we’re going to continue this epistolary friendship, I am afraid we will have to come up with a more suitable way to address each other. By which I mean, please never refer to me as Mr. Lannister again. It sounds like you’re addressing a letter to my father, gods rest his wicked soul. Although I guess that is what I deserve in exchange for “Wench”. It’s just that the name fits you so well, it’s hard to resist! And I’ve always enjoyed adding a little medieval spice to life. 

Maybe that’s part of why I wrote you an actual, physical letter to begin with. If only we could have it delivered by raven like in the old days… (This is perhaps an exaggeration, seeing as I’m dictating this to my computer and letting it do most of the typing. As you know, we Lannisters prefer the laziest methods with the greatest output).

We shall have to come to some sort of name agreement, since I do mean to continue this paper friendship. Is Ms. Tarth acceptable to you? I would personally prefer Jaime. It’s my name, although I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you say it. Perhaps we played soccer together for too long. Always “Tarth” this and “Lannister” that. Not a very personal game, is it?

I’ve heard about Stannis Baratheon before. I think I’ve even met him once, at a Lannister gala some years ago. He is technically my former brother-in-law, but he and Robert were never close, and he hasn’t been around at all since Robert’s death. Tall, sallow, stern-faced? Takes honor a little too seriously? Stannis sounds exactly like the type of man I would expect you to idolize. Not precisely winsome, but hardly deplorable. I reluctantly approve. Have you met his younger brother? They are almost exact opposites, faults and virtues included.

The takeover of Lannister Co. is a painful process that will not end. Cersei still fights me at every turn, but I have managed to sway my brother Tyrion to my side. It was not difficult – for all that I am a prat, Cersei is much worse.

She has always loathed Tyrion because our mother died giving birth to him, and even after that he still had the gall to be born a dwarf (“little person” as they say now, although if you called Tyrion that to his face he’d probably laugh before plotting a sharp-tongued revenge. Perhaps he is too fond of The Hobbit, but he has always preferred the term dwarf). Unlike our sweet sister, I have never blamed Tyrion for anything not caused by his personal actions. He did not choose to be born. That was my mother’s choice, and she made it despite the risks. I have ached for her the majority of my life, but I can hardly blame Tyrion for that. No child is in charge of when or how they are created.

My brother Tyrion is by far the smartest of we three. If my father wished for an intelligent, productive, suave, and business-minded heir, he need have searched no further than Tyrion. Unfortunately, he too was held up on physical appearance and too saturated with disappointment over his first two children to recognize the obvious suitability of his third. His loss and my gain. Tyrion will help me win the company from Cersei and then we can happily rule together, two brothers with a common business cause. Young, wild, and free - minus the fact that Tyrion is married.

But enough of my family drama. It eats away at my life like a worm in an apple already. It’s hardly excusable to allow it to pollute these pages as well. Tell me more about yourself. What do you want to do after this? I'm assuming you'll return home to be with friends and family but I'm basing that off of conjecture. I have no idea if you're a nester or a traveler or a bit of both. Are there things that you need to take care of at home? Do you feel safer sleeping under the same roof every night, or trapped by it?

Personally, I've decided with some age and self-reflection that I am a homebody. At home I have my clothes, my gadgets, my extra-long king sized bed. At home I have a kitchen and a living room and my brother comes to occupy both at least once a week. At home I have space, and peace and quiet. My apartment is the one thing I can always control.

I have tried to leave before, but I always come back. Is that how it feels for you? 

Sincerely,

Jaime Lannister

P.S. I hope you don’t mind how much I ramble. My first letter was an introduction. It was suitable for the weak and faint of heart. But this! This is a friendship. You’ve been warned.

 

October 11th, 2017  
Dear Jaime Lannister,

Actually, I am well acquainted with Renly Baratheon. Captain Baratheon now, although some critics claim that is more of an inheritance than a true title, due to the military successes of his older brothers. Having known him quite sometime, I can proudly declare that that rumor is rubbish. We were in the Academy together, he two years ahead of me, and I must say I always found him to be thoughtful, smart, and gifted. He was a very interesting man, and uncommonly kind to me. I even considered him a friend. You are right – he and General Baratheon are quite dissimilar, but I would be honored to work with either.

I was sorry to read about the tension in your family. It is hard for me to relate, as I’ve always been an only child. Never had to share any love or parental affection. Never took the blame for someone else’s carelessness. Never had a playmate or confidant close to my age inside the house. I’ve always had mixed feelings about it.

When I was young, I used to imagine what it would be like to have a little brother. I thought it would be fun to roughhouse and wrestle. I would have given him my toys when I outgrew them and we could’ve been good friends. Even if that was just my only-child idealization, I’m glad that you can love your brother without your sister’s bias. You are right – it’s cruel to blame a child for something out of their control. They do that to themselves often enough as it is.

On the note about your mother, I must express my condolences. I know it was a long time ago for you, but I hadn’t heard of her death before (I must admit, I have never read a society column about you, your sister, or your father and I have no particular wish to). My own mother passed away in a similar manner, also when I was in my youth. She died of a heart attack when I was seven. I don’t remember much about her now, but I loved her dearly as a child. My father stepped in to take her place. My aunt used to bemoan that it was his influence that turned me so “mannish”, but to be honest, toy swords and guns captivated me when my mother was alive too. I’m just a physical person.

As to your question of home, I have not experienced the emotions you describe in some time. Much like yourself, I was raised at my father's knee. I don’t know exactly what this was like for you, but with my father it was a pleasure. He loved me and he indulged me. He was home to me, and as a child his home and the things in it made me feel much as you described. Now that I’m grown, he is also the reason I wish to rise in the ranks.

At one point, 50,000 men knew my father as Admiral Tarth, their commanding naval officer. I was so proud of him. I still am. I've always wanted to be a soldier like that so that I can make him proud of me in the same way. I want to be a fighter and a leader. He’s what encourages me to go out in the world, to try my best even when the unfamiliarity is a bit intimidating.

Dad's retired now. He spends more time at home with his girlfriend and our family dog than anywhere else. He is still my family, but when I visit him and his house, I don’t feel the way I felt as a child. It’s pleasant, but I am not attached. I love our neighborhood, but I am equally happy to live elsewhere. I am not sure what this says of me on your scale of “homebody” to “chronic traveler”. It’s not that I have a need to travel – I just don’t have a reason to stay either.

Sincerely,  
Lieutenant First Class  
Brienne Tarth

P.S. “Ms. Tarth” is an acceptable address, although I prefer “Lieutenant” to “Ms.” as Lieutenant is a title I have earned regardless of my gender. And I have never shied away from a long letter yet, so feel free to write away. I had no idea you were so verbose.

 

October 23rd, 2017  
Dear Lieutenant Tarth,

Renly Baratheon, “thoughtful, smart and gifted”? You must be joking! He’s a bit of a fop and you know it. “Handsome, vain and preening”, more like. As to his military prowess, I can make no comment. The last time I saw Renly he still wanted to become a writer, family business be damned.

I believe you and I are more connected than either of us anticipated. You went to Academy with Renly and I went to high school with him. He and I both attended the “Your Father Expects Great Things of You (But You’re Always Falling Short)” King’s Landing Academy for Young Men. It was all rather tedious, to be honest. He spent a lot of time acting like a peacock with all the other pretty boys, but if that’s your type, it’s not my place to protest. I am a little sad to hear he gave into his father’s will so easily though. I was looking forward to reading his journalistic exposés.

I think we shall have to agree to disagree on our judgments of the man for now simply because I cannot continue this conversation for another month - not when I have so many other things I want to pick your brain about. Family, for example, where we share more commonalities than I would have guessed as well. It’s hard to grow up without a mother, and while many sympathize, it has been some time since I have met someone else who could understand.

But I must admit, your father sounds far superior to my own. I suspect you will balk at my bluntness since my father has been dead less than a year, but to be honest, he never nurtured us. When my sister wanted to play with swords and I with dolls he quickly punished us until we returned to our gender approved roles.

I used to struggle with writing, half my letters were always backwards and confused. Until I turned ten. Then he decided to beat it out with me. He used to stand over me and make me write for hours, holding a ruler in his hand and smacking me with it every time a letter turned out malformed. I would copy scripture over and over again (that’s probably part of why I’ve never been particularly devout, either). He said it was for my own good and I guess it worked, because now I can communicate with you like this. I would have been a subpar pen pal if he hadn’t schooled me so harshly. Although I'm still not above using voice-to-text software and proofreading later when I don't have the brainpower to put into writing. 

He did well by me, but also horribly. And that was our entire relationship, right up to his deathbed, where he refused to leave his company to either Cersei or I and instead left it for both of us to fight over, removing Tyrion from his will entirely over petty squabbles. He was conceited, prideful, and wealthy enough to fund my every (approved) desire.

His own men whispered that he was the devil behind his back, but still he built an empire around them. I was equally impressed with, and afraid of, him.

Cersei is almost at a point where she’ll have to give up her Lannister claim, I might add. I’ve known about her lust for wine for years, but ever since Robert’s death back in 2015 (which was itself sped along by wine, a hot young date, and a sports car, since you said you avoid the tawdry headlines), her drinking has become insatiable. It’s hard to label her an alcoholic simply because she wears the title with so much indifference. She will die if she continues this way, not that she’d ever admit it.

A weakness runs in my family. I see it in my twin, in my father - even in myself. Pride, vanity, and the ridiculous belief that we know ourselves well enough to plot our own salvation. It hasn’t worked out for any of us so far, but that never seems to prevent us from trying.

Sincerely,  
Jaime

P.S. For the record, and regardless of any past sentiments expressed, I have never truly considered you “mannish”. This is not only part of my prat-recovery course – it’s the truth. And may I please call you by your given name? I don’t want to be “Jaime Lannister” to you. I just want to be Jaime.

 

November 15th, 2017  
Dear Jaime,

I don’t know how to respond to the injustices of your childhood, other than to agree wholeheartedly that they were unjust. Your father treated you like a project, something to be improved upon to promote his own gain. I’m sorry for that. I might not have said this two months ago, but it turns out you’re a pretty decent person at heart. You’re not the automaton you were drilled to be - you are your own person, with perhaps a buried conscience somewhere deep in there.

Hopefully your sister will find a way to be her own person too, free from the alcohol and the pressure, and probably the depression. I don’t know her very well (and what I remember is honestly not that flattering) but she might be feeling the loss of her husband more than you would think. It can be hard to lose something, even if you’ve taken it for granted. Perhaps especially so. 

We’re moving out today. No more “safe” and “quiet” training camp. The real skirmish begins, although we're still not a part of it yet. The Dragon Queen’s forces have been moving to the south, so that’s where we’re headed. Who knows what we’ll find? I follow Stannis Baratheon still (the Honest King, they’ve dubbed him), and he is honest to a fault. He never holds back constructive criticism - fortunately, as a woman in a male-dominated field, I can handle a lot worse than that.

There is one thorn in my side accompanying me. Normally, I would never say any of this. Indeed, if you were a member of my troop, someone present in my day-to-day life, I would stay silent. But since you are thousands of miles away, I’m going to vent. Lieutenant Hunt seems to have made it his goal to drive me up a damn wall. He teases and pesters and berates and puts me down, in small and serious ways, every chance he gets. He drives me insane. More so than anyone else I’ve encountered, except maybe yourself when we were in college. Maybe he’ll be reassigned. Or pull his head out of his ass. Either way, there’s nothing I can do about it now, except rant for a few sentences to you who are too far away to ever encounter the man in question.

Since I have no idea how often the mail will run from here on out, I invite you to write as often or as sparingly as you want. Non-sequiturs are fine. I will write to you as much as I can. With the deployment and the cramped camps I am now likely to share with Lieutenant Hunt, I am sure I will long for the diversion.

Sincerely,  
Brienne Tarth

 

December 1st, 2017  
Dear Brienne,

Tell Hunt he can shove off. I’m the only one authorized to tease and pester you, although I guess what I’ve been doing the most of recently is to confess to you. You gave me your confession (small though it is - coworker discord is normal, and I have absolute faith in your ability to defend yourself. Kick his ass). Here is my much longer and probably too detailed return confession.

Cersei was my entire world for so long. As twins who lost their mother young, and were isolated by a cold and distant father, we bonded deeply. From birth to eight years old, every action we performed was done so together. At age nine, my father finally noticed us long enough to decide we should be sent away. Boarding school - gender segregated.

I liked my school well enough. Passing grades were not hard to obtain, and for the most part I coasted by on name alone (I do not possess my younger brother’s wit or intelligence, which became quite clear to me when I was 12 and he, at 7, could help me cheat on homework). Cersei faired much the same at her school, where she amassed a small crowd of minions whom she ruled with an iron fist. But neither of us truly cared for school or our companions. We cared only for each other.

“We were born together and we’ll die together,” we used to say, even as seventeen and eighteen-year-olds. My thought was always why should I pursue a girlfriend, when I was born alongside my other half? (The girlfriend I did manage to get in high school was understandably unhappy with this sentiment.) I thought that Cersei was all I needed - everyone else was superficial. 

Where did the fissure form? How long has it been since Cersei and I were of one heart and one mind? Perhaps right out of high school, when she got pregnant and married Robert. He was rich, from old money, and at the ripe old age of 24 he had already begun a promising military career, aided by the acquisition of powerful friends, and was doing quite well for himself. They were far too young to get married, but Cersei probably thought she was tying down a pretty decent catch. My father approved of Robert as much as he did anyone else. It was only I who hated him. He was ham-fisted and rude, with every sign of becoming a drunkard, even as a youth. I told Cersei she could do better, and she ignored me. Maybe that was the break.

All this reminiscing is just to preface the fact that I appealed this morning to have her forcibly placed in a rehab facility. My niece Myrcella made the mistake last night of trying to reason with her mother while she was deep in her cups. Cersei lashed out at her with the nearest available object - a kettle Myrcella had just used to boil tea. The child now has a six-inch burn along the inside of her arm. She’s in protective custody, for the moment, as is her younger brother Tommen. Joffrey, the eldest, hasn’t been seen in two days. Myrcella and Tommen say it is common for him to take off indefinitely, and that their mother is never concerned and never reports him. “Boys being boys,” she shrugs it off, letting her sixteen-year-old do gods know what. 

Tysha, my brother’s wife, called me half an hour ago to tell me she’d heard a rumor Joff was in Flea Bottom, stirring up trouble with his gangster pal “the Hound”, an old and unsavory associate of Robert’s. 

What am I going to do? Will I have to take Myrcella and Tommen on my own? I’m sure I’ve kept this cleverly hidden, but I’m not exactly the parenting type (I know about as much about parenting as a fish knows about flight). But no one else could possibly take them in. Robert’s brothers are… unfit, not to mention uninclined. My father and mother are both dead, and Tyrion, while a good man, is still Tyrion. If I’m not ready for the responsibility then he certainly isn’t, even though he’s a married man and I most certainly am not.

We shall see. The court date is in two days. Since this has the potential to be a high-profile case, I’ve done everything I can to keep it quiet and quick. Sweep it under the rug rather than point the spotlight on it, or some other mixed metaphor.

I’ll let you know how it goes. These letters are getting so cathartic for me to write that you’ll probably be the first person that I “tell”, even if it’ll take you two weeks to read it.

Not to be too weird, but I miss you. I’m not sure how it’s possible to miss someone you really only know through letters, but I do. It would be good to have a friend here besides my brother. Even if you’re as lost with teenagers as I am.

Sincerely,  
Jaime

 

December 13th, 2017  
Dear Jaime,

I will admit that I’ve heard from Stannis how your situation ended. Full custody split between you and Tyrion! Cersei in rehab! The news must be sending quite a ripple through society. I’m glad that you did what you had to - now Cersei can receive the help she needs to get over her addiction. It would be a disservice to allow her children to remain in an unsafe environment. They are your family too. They deserve to be somewhere safe.

Stannis did leave out some key details, however. He mentioned Tommen and Myrcella, but said nothing of Joffrey. Did he return? Is he safe? I gather he’s not staying with you like the other two.

Hunt has made up a new game to play. He is trying to be nice to me, and I trust it not at all. He and a few other of the men have become so kind as to almost be flirtatious. Considering they acted as if they didn’t know me a week ago, the abrupt change has been duly noted. Whatever game he’s up to, I wish he’d bloody well stop. I have enough on my mind with the threat of Her lurking. 

This part I know I cannot discus. Classified. It’s part of the job. But let me leave you with the cryptic comment that both our forces are advancing and “peacekeepers” or not, I anticipate a real skirmish in the near future. The way things are going, it’s inevitable. But I know my training and I’ll follow it. I have every intention of leaving this desert and returning home one day, alive and in one piece.

It’s almost Midwinter. Will you celebrate with your niece and nephew? Do you think it will snow at all this year? I’m sure my father is just about ready to pack up and go to the Summer Isles for the rest of the season. His last letter was full of old-man-griping-about-weather comments. For all that he’s a grizzled old soldier, he hates even Tarth’s mild winters. Tell me all about the holidays at your house. Let me live vicariously. Midwinter and Midsummer were always my favorite times of year (even if we usually spent them in tropical locations).

Whatever you end up doing, I hope you enjoy the holidays, tumultuous as they can sometimes be - and I hope your boss gives you plenty of time off with your new growing family.

I miss you too.  
Brienne

 

December 26th, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

To respond to your last - Joffrey turned up two days after the trial, high and raving in the streets outside the house. Cocaine, the police say. He’s been temporarily placed in police custody, as multiple witnesses have placed him at the scene of an armed robbery committed the day before his arrest. Were my father still alive, he would probably make a well-placed donation and find a way to sweep all of this under the rug, leaving Joffrey to walk free. I will not. 

Wealth does not mean Joff should be free from the consequences of his action. If I’d suffered a little more and gotten out of a little less, I’m pretty sure I would’ve grown into a better man. It seems most likely that he'll be sentenced to some time in juvenile hall, or another correctional facility. I'll make sure he receives actual quality corrective counseling, but that's the last string I'll pull for him. 

On a different note, I would like to second your scepticism towards Hunt. As an asshole, I can attest that he’s probably up to some asshole antics. My advice would be to find a friend to watch your back - it’s a lot easier if you have someone you can genuinely trust. Not that I’ve experienced that very often.

Midwinter was beautiful this year. Crisp, white snow making fluffy snow banks which have yet to turn to icy moosh. Right now, the world looks clean and open. Quiet and serene in a way that cities rarely manage. 

Our celebration was simple. Tyrion, Tysha, and the kids were all at my apartment. We decorated a tree, Myrcella roasted marshmallows in my usually decorative fireplace, and Tommen gave each of us a picture that he’d painted at school. It was a little awkward. Before this forced rejoining, neither Tyrion nor I had spent much time with Cersei’s children without her being present. But we’re all getting used to the situation, and this was honestly the best Midwinter I’ve had in years. 

I fear my letters are getting too long. There's only so much I can remember week by week. I probably repeat information, or leave huge gaps. Can you follow what I write at all? What little brain power I have does seem to go into these letters. These are my most stimulating conversations by far. The rest of my life is reports, strange flirting, and preteen logic. (Reports at work, one-sided flirting from women at the bars Tyrion convinces me to visit with him, and preteen logic from my new tenants.)

It's been interesting having my niece and nephew around so much, but I must admit "I should get an extra piece of cake because I know you watched that movie I wanted to see without me" does get tiring. It's just a lot of angst for one person to balance, you know? Tyrion and Tysha have for the most part been pulling their half of the weight though so that's helped. Co-parenting with your sibling is an interesting process.

Tyrion and Tysha are talking about having a real wedding soon, once the weather warms up. They eloped together four years ago, back when my father was alive and a huge asshole. He always hated Tysha because her family were normal people and she was unassuming. He did his best to convince Tyrion that she was using him for his fortune, but since it was never quite clear if Father liked Tyrion enough to even include him in his will, banking on Tyrion inheriting his just share would not have been a very solid gold digging business plan.

Fortunately, Tysha wasn't in it for the money. She just loves him. Thank the gods. After growing up in our family, he deserves that.

Happy New Year. I hope you have a few hours to yourself, for once. It’s okay to not work every second (I tell you hypocritically, as I log another 12-hour work day).

Best wishes and happy holidays,  
Jaime

 

January 13th, 2018  
Dear Jaime,

That sounds quite fair. Send me as much or as little you wish in your letters and I will respond in kind. Of course, some things are too interesting not to directly respond to. Your new family outlook, for one.

I’m happy to hear that you had a sweet Midwinter. I always loved the way snow makes everything seem new (sand doesn’t have quite the same effect). It may have felt awkward, but it’s a blessing that you were able to share that time with Myrcella and Tommen. With the death of their father, Joffrey’s incarceration, and Cersei’s rehab, I can imagine it’s been a devastating past few years for them. Even I, who willingly admits to having maybe one motherly bone in my body, can sympathize. 

I am not good with children generally. We have trouble understanding each other. Perhaps it is because I am an only child. Perhaps it is because I have rarely put in the effort. I grew up in the army, and as an adult, here I remain. What children am I even exposed to, besides a tiny face peeking out a window as our caravan passes? Even so, I remember how I felt when I was young and how much I longed for the unattainable concept of a “normal” family. You, Tyrion, and Tysha are bringing these two closer to that than they’ve experienced in a long time. I’m proud of you. Not such a jerk after all, eh, Jaime?

Hunt’s game with me is over, by the way. He and two of his vile friends made a bet on who could have sex with me first. Which explains the kind words and little treats. Well, the joke is on them as an aid de camp, Osha, tipped me off to it right before a group training exercise. I have never taken such pleasure as I did making sure Hunt, Bushy, and Ambrose were rightly humiliated. We just happened to be on opposing sides for the exercise (thanks again, Osha! Turns out you were right about the importance of a well-placed friend) and not only did my group manage to ambush theirs, but I was able to (gently) taze and handcuff all three before the activity ended. Have to practice disabling the enemy, after all. It was invigorating, knowing that their main goal was to humiliate me and harm my reputation, and getting to instead do the exact same to them. I don't need anymore restitution than that. 

I can guess how hearing about Hunt will make you feel, Jaime, but I’m going to ask you here and now not to do anything. They’re all disgusting men, the type who never grew up from the high school mentality that sex is connected to self-worth. It isn’t. I’ll admit, it’s taken me years to be comfortable with myself and who I am. If this had happened to me in high school, it would have fucked me up. It was bad enough that my well-meaning dad would always invite over his business associates and their families, then try to get me to be close with their sons. The sons occasionally attempted to be polite to me, to help their fathers win my father over, but for the most part it was just awkward. 

Boys didn’t like me in high school, and they haven’t paid much attention to me since, at least not in the way Hunt was pretending to. I have male friends, like Renly, but I don’t really date. That’s something that I, as an adult, am okay with. And I would certainly never lower my standards to someone like the sub-par Corporal Bushy. I would quite honestly rather be alone forever. What they did was stupid and cruel, but it won’t have a lasting effect on me. Some men are just challenged by women in power. It is what it is. I’m glad I have you to write this letter to to remind myself that not all men are inconsiderate assholes.

Best,  
Brienne

 

February 3rd, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

It has taken all the self-control I have not to do anything on your behalf. You asked me not to, and I respect you, but good gods I wish I could strangle Hunt and his friends. Or at least embarrass them back here at home as well. That they thought they could sexually harass you like that and suffer no consequences! It’s disgusting. I’ll try to let it go for the rest of this letter, but I know it’s going to keep boiling under my skin. You’re a good person, Brienne. You deserve good things, including a man who genuinely appreciates you, if that’s something you’re looking for. 

I read a book recently. I know, a book. For pleasure. It’s shocking to me as well. A history tome, actually. Some monk wrote it about fifty years ago, and it includes information from the “beginning of recorded history” up until now. It weighs about five pounds. I like it so much, I was reading it while eating lunch yesterday. My new assistant, a tiny brunnette by the name of Jeyne, came in to tell me I had a phone call, then proceeded to stare as if I’d grown multiple heads. It’s almost like people have this image of me, and are surprised when I shatter it. I wonder how that happened?

My favorite part of the book so far remains the study of the Old Families - and I’m not just saying that because my family is part of it, although reading about my great-great-grandfather and his political ambitions has been interesting. You know, I always believed my father was just biding his time before making a move into politics. Grandfather was a council member. So was his father before him. My father broke the cycle by becoming a business mogul instead, but I always believed he’d eventually change his mind and move towards politics as well. Maybe he planned to. Maybe not. It doesn’t matter much now. The issue resolved itself, in a way - if Tywin Lannister had wanted to be a great politician, then he waited too long. 

That’s a heavy thought. Waiting too long. I’ve never been nearly as impulsive as I’ve been painted. I am not the Jaime tabloids speak of (an opinion I hope you can now corroborate). That Jaime is wild and carefree. That Jaime has always fulfilled the bare minimum of duty, attending fundraisers, flirting with investors, calling in favors like the spoonfed brat the media anticipates. He’s painted as a skydiver and a hopeless flirt, a scoundrel to hide your daughters from.

I’m thirty-two and I can’t think of the last fun thing I did for myself. I go to work from eight to six on a good day (who wrote the song “nine to five”? I’d like to clock him. Pun intended.). My most constant dinner-date is my brother. I haven’t gone on vacation without having a business meeting attached to it in two years. I don’t even go to the movie theater. Does writing letters to you count? I think this is my one wholly selfish activity. Even if you never wrote to me again, I’d still write back. This is my main human connection, and I crave it. Don’t give up on me yet, Brienne, or all I’ll have in my life is my history tomes. 

Best wishes,  
Jaime

 

February 23rd, 2018  
Dear Jaime,

I had an entirely different letter prepared to send to you, but a call last night destroyed my life, so I had to write you this instead. 

My father is dead. It is a fact I cannot fathom. This is the first time I have said, or written, those words. It still feels unreal. I talked to him two days ago. He said that he was proud of me. His last letter to me arrived this week – it still sits on my nightstand, beside a pile of your own.

My father is dead and all I can think is how much I wish that I could call him to talk about it. He was so strong. So healthy. He ran five miles every day with Sapphire, our Newfoundland. Oh gods, what’s going to happen to Sapphire now? I wish I could take her with me, but they would never allow it. And she would die in this heat.

Sometimes it is so hot I feel as though I live outside the gates of hell. And then news like this arrives, as if to push me into it. My heart is burning. I feel like my insides are turning on a rotisserie over live coals. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. I am lost.

My father is dead. He’s dead, and I’m mad at myself for not being there. As if in seeing him, I could somehow bring him back to life. As if my presence would have deterred a sudden aneurysm. As if my proximity could have prevented this most disgusting stab of fate. I know that it’s pointless, but I wish I was home. I want to be home, right now, with him. But that will never happen again.

Ever since I first heard the news, my skin has been crawling but my heart is numb. It’s a gruesome thing to hear when you’re at war. I know that life goes on while I’m away, I hear about it in each one of your letters, but death isn’t supposed to. Death is here, all around me in this blistering place, waiting and biding her time. Death is not supposed to claim a healthy fifty-nine-year-old man relaxing in his own house by the sea.

My father is dead and I will have to arrange everything. I am all he has, besides his girlfriend. I will have to call her at some point. She was the one who found him, the police said. The two of us will feel the enormity of his passing most acutely, yet here and now I can’t even remember her name. Shannon? Kaye? Catelyn? My father was a bit of a romantic. To him, they were all “the one”, until they weren’t again. He’s had many girlfriends, serious and not, since my mother passed. But none he loved well enough to marry.

That’s not to say they didn’t love him or that he did not care for them acutely. I believe he never fully healed after my mother. He tried to plug the wound, but feelings always seep back in. I think that is what his death has done to me. My entire life, he’s been the one constant. He taught me to read and write, played with me when I was happy, comforted me when I was sad – he was my father, my mother, my playmate. For a very long time, he was the axis of my world. Maybe he still is. Maybe that’s why I feel like I’m spinning.

My father is dead. I am an orphan. I am alone. In lieu of condolences, please send me a new soul instead. This one is worn through.

Distraught and brokenly yours,  
Brienne Tarth

 

February 24th, 2018  
Dear Jaime,

I know I wrote and mailed my last letter to you only yesterday, but as it was entirely sentimentality and no fact, I had to write again.

I am going home. General Baratheon granted me four days’ leave. I will fly into King’s Landing, have the ceremony there, then drive to Tarth to bury him. It’s absurd to think that I could handle all of this in four days, but that is life in the military. My leave is set for two and a half weeks from now, so these letters should still reach you before I do. I will have to plan the memorial, call guests, and send out invitations from here before I go home to attend. He wanted to be cremated, but I still think a coffin is necessary. I want to bury half his ashes in the plot beside my mother’s grave. Part of him belongs with her in death, just as it stayed during life.

I am writing this instead of calling you because I’m scared. We haven’t seen each other in… a year? More? Yet I’ve read every letter you’ve written to me at least three times. This is how we communicate. Phone calls and voices are such a foreign thing. What will I say to you when I don’t have a week to think out responses? I guess we’ll see. I hope we’ll see. Consider this your invitation, if that wasn’t clear. Please be there, Jaime. I need a friend.

See you soon,  
Brienne

 

  
March 19th, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

As I write this, you are stepping onto a plane. My arms still tingle from where I wrapped them around you. It was hard to let you go. I couldn’t say that to your face, but honesty is easier here, through ink and paper. It always has been.

I’ve missed you, Brienne. I will miss you even more now that I’m aware of all that I’ve been missing. I suspect my afternoons will feel a little bereft without you around to squabble with. I’m glad you spent some time with me, and I’m still shocked you were willing to come to my office to see me. Lannister Corp is not the most welcoming place, as you might have noticed.

I didn’t fire that negligent secretary, per your request, but I did give her the talking-to of her life about assumptions and appearances. I’m still irritated that she told you to leave, and I’m thankful that you stayed. The next day I told her that if another distraught woman showed up at work claiming to be a close friend of mine, she better run the name by me before dismissing her. There’s no way to tell how people feel about each other at a glance. And you’ve been through enough putting up with me the past few months - you don’t deserve to deal with snotty secretaries.

I feel honored that you let me join you in mourning your father. It was my loss to have never met the man. He sounds larger-than-life – and he raised you, so I am eternally in his debt. I may not have said it in as many words this weekend, but for some time now you have been the best friend I’ve ever had. That’s probably pathetic, considering this weekend was the first time we’d really seen each other since college. But it’s true.

Do you have to know someone in person to consider her your best friend? I say not. Otherwise I am utterly wretched, as the next closest candidate I possess is my brother Tyrion, who hates as well as loves me. Regardless, you are important to me. And I’m glad that we could be together, as real, in-person friends, despite the abominable circumstances. I wish you hadn’t left. I wish we could’ve stayed together a little longer.

I wish I could have kissed you properly, at the right time. Not as comfort, not as consolation, but as a declaration. Every time I read one of your letters, it sparks a little fire inside me. To have you here, at arms length at last, stoked the flame into a blaze. I’m sorry that I kissed you, but only because it wasn’t the right time. I wish we had the luxury of being able to wait.

I hope I didn’t drive you away. When we said goodbye, I think you felt it too. That spark. That want. That jealousy for all the normal people all around us who get to go on coffee dates and lunches for ages before making a move. You and I have only words, and one touch that I hope you never regret. I won’t.

Fondest thoughts,  
Jaime

P.S. Sapphire seems skeptical of her new apartment life, but I think she’s going to be pretty excited when she discovers the rooftop pool (much more excited than I will be once I have to start cleaning dog hair out of the filter, I suspect). 

 

April 2nd, 2018  
Dear Jaime,

I regret nothing. You were my rock to cling to as each new wave of emotion tried to break me those four days. There was a reason I sought you out the hour I arrived. I wanted you, I needed you, and I still do.

I can’t ask you to wait for me - who knows how long this “skirmish” will continue. But if you want me when whatever’s left of me returns, I’m yours. For at least one coffee date.

Best wishes,  
Brienne

P.S. Thank you for taking Sapphire in. Consider this a dog loan - let her know I'm coming back for her one day too. 

 

April 15th, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

Thank the Gods. I will still want you, I swear it. I’ve always been a one-woman man, tabloid speculation be damned. And you’re that woman to me now, for as long as you wish to be. I know you’re not asking, but I want to wait. For you I can wait as long as it takes. I just hope that when you come back you still want me.

I saw this book and thought of you. It’s been in my family’s library for who knows how long – I think it is in need of a new home. I hope it brings you some comfort. I must admit, I’m not very poetic – verse is sometimes lost on me. But I like the flow.

Please keep this. If you try to return it, I shall simply send it back to you again. When you grow tired of it, pass it on to someone else who might enjoy it.

Honestly yours,  
Jaime

 

 

May 3rd, 2018  
Dear Jaime,

I have read the book you sent at least three times in the past week. Each time I do, a different poem strikes me as my favorite. I currently adore “The People, Yes” by Carl Sandburg. Here’s a taste:

“This old anvil laughs at many broken hammers.  
There are men who can’t be bought.  
The fireborn are at home in fire.  
The stars make no noise,  
You can’t hinder the wind from blowing.  
Time is a great teacher.  
Who can live without hope?”

It is a long poem it its entirety. A poem of war and revolution and regrets. I am a student of all three, and I have experienced plenty of each in the past few years.

Life is a paradox. I don’t believe in fate because every day is such chaos that to call it pre-determined would be cruel. Who am I to say that some distant god meant for the people at the refugee camp I visited yesterday to slowly starve? One grade school boy was so skinny I could almost hear his ribs rub together. And the look in his mother’s eyes; to be forced to watch her child decay and be entirely helpless!

The “fireborn” may be at home in fire but I am a creature of the sea. My father’s house was on the coast. I grew up splashing through those waves under the trained eyes of countless babysitters. Why am I here now, in this red waste? It’s too hot for me. The way our camp moves, I have not seen the ocean in weeks. Maybe I am the hammer attempting the anvil’s job. It cannot bring a pleasant end. I lack the necessary force.

I have always wanted to help people. My entire life, that has been the goal. I have always been physically large and have put in great effort to grow strong. Joining the military was the best way I could think of to use this to my advantage. I thought that if I studied strategy and tactics long enough, I would be a proper leader.

I never contemplated the effects of a soldier’s prime directive on the soul. This week it was ignoring starving people in a camp. Next week it might be hunting down a rebel group. The Targaryen girl is on the move again, they say. But I can’t tell you about that. Who would have thought that peace could feel so much like war?

Your friend,  
Brienne

 

  
May 17th, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

I have often found myself daydreaming about your lips. They are wide and smooth, flushed pink and soft like a rose petal. Will you hate me for writing this? Brienne, you must know that you have become more than a friend to me. When you came to me that night, I knew you were out of your head. Your father, your anchor, was gone. You needed someone close by, something to ground you.

I have been called scoundrel, rogue, and delinquent in my day, but I never considered holding you that night in anyway besides as a friend. My feelings for you may not be your feelings for me. When you crawled into my bed to sleep beside me, I knew it was for the reassurance of my heartbeat, nothing more. I longed to give you what you needed, as much or as little as that might be.

But now, two months later, I drift off during board meetings imagining the touch of your lips to mine. I want to kiss you more than I want to hear about dividends, so much more than I want to argue with my brother over what to watch on TV, or scratch my head at Myrcella’s calculus homework. Anytime my mind has more than thirty seconds free, it always seems to get caught up in you. 

I hope that we can both be at peace with our lives soon. You may not be an anvil, but I know you can handle any job placed in front of you. You have to. Giving up isn’t in your nature. I admire you for that. You’re a smart woman. Gods know I need someone smart in my life. 

Missing you,  
Jaime

 

June 7th, 2018  
Dear Jaime,

I've never gotten a manicure, or curled my eyelashes. I own exactly two pairs of high heels. Both are more kitten heels, if anything (my old co-worker Margaery taught me that term, otherwise I would simply categorize them as “short”). One pair is white and one pair is black. I own three nice dresses - one in red, one in blue, and one in black. The one in black may be gone at this point. Must be gone, really. I wore it to my father’s memorial, then left it on the floor of his guest bedroom. The house goes up for sale this month, so I assume the dress has been removed. A pity - it was almost passable. 

This is all to say that growing up without a mother left me little in the way of girly attributes. But with you, when you write to me… I don’t know if it’s feeling feminine per se, or just feeling cared for. There’s a layer of emotion that you write that I’ve never quite been able to access in myself. It fills a hunger that I find inside me. It makes me feel content.

I would love to kiss you again. I think about the feeling of your beard against my face. I think about the curve of your shoulders and the boyish charm of your grin. Send me a picture and I’ll put it beside my cot. I want the world to know that I care about you, and you care about me, but I also want it to stay a secret between us forever. Such a conundrum. Can I keep such bliss to myself? I don’t know. I think not. 

Osha knows about you. Ever since the Hunt incident, she and I have grown close. She’s a local who’s been on our side interpreting and finding out intel for the past year. Smart, funny, able to analyze a situation with a glance, and to just as easily disperse unnecessary tension by making everyone else laugh. She’s a good friend to have. And it hasn’t gone unnoticed by her how much time I put into each of your letters. She watches me write them and she laughs. She says it’s good that I have someone to care about. It keeps me grounded, not too philosophical. I agree.

Dreaming of you,  
Brienne

P.S. I can't ask you for a picture without sending one, but all I have is this. I hope you like a woman in uniform. 

 

June 19th, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

Myrcella came to my office yesterday and saw your photo perched beside my computer. “Is that Brienne?” she asked. “She needs a frame.” And now you have one. It's silver and oval shaped, so you look like my 1940’s sweetheart off at war. But I just imagine how it would make you laugh to see yourself propped on my desk like that and it makes me smile. My girl. 

Tyrion and Tysha set a date. All that waiting to have a “real” wedding and they decided to have it next month. So now they're both planning like crazy. Last I heard, it was going to be in the woods, and there might be trained deer involved. It's hard to keep up with them, but I'm glad they're happy. There are few people more deserving. 

Everything else has been pretty boring here. The usual quiet life. The company is doing quite well. It turns out I can be a pretty savvy businessman when I set my mind to it. My father would be shocked - but pleasantly, I hope. Lannister Corps has always operated a few different enterprises, the most famous being the gold jewelry stores of course. For the past year I've been working on how to keep the company more socially conscious and environmental. Conflict-free minerals and stones, and as little environmental pollution during the harvesting process and refinement at the factory, as possible. 

Sapphire has a friend. Tommen thinks it's awesome. Every time we go to the dog park we keep running into these sisters, Arya and Sansa, and their two gigantic Great Pyrenees. They're even larger than Sapphire, believe it or not. And Sansa and Arya are pretty young, close to Tommen and Myrcella's age. Is it my job to set up a play date when they're teenagers or are they supposed to get up the nerve to ask each other for their phone numbers at some point? It's killing me waiting on them. Today was the third time we “accidentally” ran into them (by visiting the dog park at the same time of day). Gods, I would be so happy if they made more friends. 

Looking forward to you joining us one day,  
Jaime

 

July 11th, 2018  
Dear Jaime,

I’m sorry it’s been such a long time. I have no time anymore - I barely have any now. Quick, quick, march, march. Never enough time. Yet always too much of it. We left for active duty three weeks ago so quickly and quietly, I wasn't able to write. I hate to think of you in suspense and I hope you weren't too concerned. I'm alright. Just busy. 

Tell me about your life again. It really brightened my day reading your last letter. Everything here is desert heat and gritty sand. I want to hear about the wedding, the kids, your work, what book you've read recently, anything. 

It's strange how you can react to being in an isolated area with the same forty people for a month. There are always people around to talk to, but not much to say. Some soldiers love talking about home. Others hate it. It's either a comfort, or a reminder of all they’ve had to put aside for now. A strange idea, how many different ways different people can react to the same situation. 

Osha is still with us and she's a tight-lipped comfort to me. We hang out during our free times often, but we're both pretty quiet people and we rarely say much. I know that at one time, she had a family, and they are gone now, swallowed by this conflict. I don't know who was in her family, but I have my suspicions. She wears a thick metal ring on a chain around her neck. It looks like a man’s wedding ring. How awful it must be to not have a home to go back to. It's hard enough knowing mine will be entirely different without my father. I still think of him every day. I wonder if I always will. 

Where will I live when I come home? All my stuff is in storage in King’s Landing. All my father's things were stored or sold when I sold his house. There isn't really anything left for me in Evenfall. It sounds like my dog is fitting in very nicely with you and yours. I guess I'll have to find a place near you. Any chance you can get me a deal on rent? I sure can't handle what you pay on that penthouse, but I think I could still manage a one bedroom on the Harbour, assuming it's a little rundown. 

Hug Sapphire for me,  
Brienne

 

August 1st, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

Write when you can. I always understand if you have work. I just need to hear that you're doing alright, or as best as you can in that situation. I need to know when you're okay. Even if it's just few sentences, I appreciate anything. 

Tysha and Tyrion had a wonderful wedding. It was in the forest, but the reception was on the beach (when you can't decide, choose both. It's the Lannister way). They had privately chartered buses driving everyone between the two locations. They decided against trained deer, but they did use Sapphire as the ring bearer. Tommen was deemed too old for the role, so he and Myrcella got to join me in the wedding party instead. I'll send pictures once the photographer sends us the good copies. 

Joffrey and Cersei are still at their respective institutions, and I've never been more grateful for it. This was probably one of the most successful family events we've held, and that would not have been the case if they were present. Cersei has always been terrible to Tyrion and I'm glad she was too far away to try to have an influence on his day, and Joffrey - he's been a walking disaster for a few years now. I wish them the best, very far from me and mine. 

Huh. I've never put it quite like that before, but I guess Tommen and Myrcella are mine now. I mean, I've been their legal guardian for a while now, but I wasn't sure if that would be temporary or permanent or what. But now, after this long. I'm not giving them up. Who would walk Sapphire for me before I got back from work? Or give me fashion advice before a big meeting? Or force me to relearn high school curriculum in order to help them study? I need them around to educate me on pop culture at the very least. 

I haven't read much lately, but I'm not giving up on the practice, I swear. I even got a library card. I also donated a couple thousand to the library while I was there because, honestly, libraries are the best invention ever. A place to hang out for free and to absorb knowledge while you're at it. Who came up with public libraries? Genius. 

Don't worry about the apartment - Lannister Corps’ real estate division owns a couple good places. Like, the entire building my apartment tops. And the one next to it, if you prefer a little distance. You get dibs on whatever's available as soon as you're back. You name the price. I just want a neighbor I can trust to be quiet and courteous. 

Love,  
Jaime (the supremely wonderful landlord)

P.S. They did it! Myrcella worked up the nerve to ask the girls from the dog park if they could hang out again on purpose this time. It turns out Sansa and Arya are our neighbors. Kind, good-hearted friends for my kids at last.

 

August 15th, 2018  
Dear Jaime,

I'm sorry I have to break from our usual narrative. I can't think about anything outside of right now. So much of this letter will be censored. Here I write you words, but what you will receive is smears of black ink. I will write this anyway. I have to. If I leave it inside of me any longer, I will combust.

We came upon the remains of a village yesterday. It was blown to hell, although whether by us or the Dragon Army it is hard to say. The Dragons have been known to follow the Dothraki practice of scavenge-and-destroy. It goes like this: steal what you can – weapons, stores, livestock, and people. Light the rest up like it’s somebody’s name day. Move on to the next village, and the next, and the next.

This village I saw was burned, that’s true, but you know our bombers are perfectly capable of doing that too. The Dothraki aim to claim. We do it to destroy. What’s the difference, you ask? Well, if you are a civilian and the Dragon Army attacks, you’ll either be raped, recruited, or killed. If we’re the attackers, you might live. But if you do almost everyone you know will likely die around you, and there are very few towns left where you might seek refuge. So in time, when your supplies run low or the next set of troops marches through, you’ll probably still end up dead.

In this burned out village, bodies were everywhere. Old people, young people, children. Everything was fresh too, less than a day most likely. Fires were still burning around some of the houses. As we were walking through, checking for survivors, I heard a baby cry. It was shushed quickly, but I recognized the sound.

Back in high school I volunteered in the NIC Unit for two years. Did I ever tell you that? I used to go after class twice a week. I loved working with babies. The way they felt nestled in my arms. The way they smelled. The little giggles they made when they were happy. I admit, I’m usually afraid of breakable things – but not babies. They seem so fragile, like they’re made of glass, but they’re stronger than they look. They have so much life in them, and they’re willing to fight for it. And they never judged me - even in my awkward teen years when my hair was even more of a stylistic mess than it is now.

I called out to whoever was there in my disgustingly weak Dothraki. I don’t know any of the sheepherder’s language, which would be most of these peoples’ first tongue. But the average villager knows a lot more Dothraki than they do Common, so it’s my go-to attempt at communication.

Out steps this boy, maybe fifteen years old, with a baby clutched in his arms. I was still holding my gun, and he froze. I pointed it at the ground, but he was still wary of the strange blonde giant.

“It’s alright,” I said in Dothraki, the language of his destroyers. “Come here and I will protect you.”

The boy nodded and I think he understood. He walked forward five paces, the baby held to his chest, then stopped. His eyes grew wide with shock. He stumbled forward. There was a knife protruding from his back.

I swung my weapon up to the sound of gunfire. I shot back at the house he had come from, the direction the knife had been thrown. Return fire stopped. By then the boy had fallen. The baby was still clutched in his arms, but it was halfway buried beneath him. He wasn’t moving anymore.

My soldiers ran into the house to search for other Dothraki rebels. They found only one body. He must have earned the ire of his Dragon Queen, because he had clearly been abandoned by the hoard. His long hair had been cut to signal disgrace, and one of my bullets had punctured its way through his right eye socket.

The baby had hit a rock when her carrier collapsed. Most of the damage appeared to be to her arm, and whenever anyone touched it, she wailed. I picked her up and transported her myself, fashioning a sling out of old blankets from an unburned room. She stayed with me, screaming and crying and drinking what little goat milk we could find.

When we returned to friendly territory, I brought her to a med tent and they took her from me. I haven’t seen her since, and I never will. I hope that she survives. I hope the Dothraki never reach their next village. I hope that our pilots don’t mistake her next town for a target. I hope that someone, somewhere, will love and care for and raise her. I hope that she will be healthy.

But I put my faith in nothing. Benevolent gods do not hear such wishes in this strange, abandoned land. The Stranger rules this world, and all my waiting and wishing will change nothing. It is more likely she will die tomorrow. Or perhaps she died last night. I will never know. I am only a soldier.

Sincerely,  
Sergeant Tarth

 

August 30th, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

You’re right - significant portions of your letter were redacted, but I could understand enough. If you ever want to tell me about it in person, I will always listen. And if you never want to talk about it again, I will never ask. I will give you as much or as little as you would like. 

Promise me you won’t let this war consume you. Please, gods, know that you are Brienne Tarth, daughter of Selwyn Tarth, pride of Evenfall. What you do now does not define you. You are already defined - you have a life, a history, friends and family back here. No matter what happens, there are people (and a very large dog) who want you and care for you. Don’t give up on us. Don’t give up on yourself. Be who you have to be to survive and try your best with everything else. You have the strongest moral compass of anyone I know. But if you can't follow it in every circumstance, know that that is alright as well. You can only control yourself. Don't become the chaos around you. 

Gods, all I want to do is hold you. We've come so far. Please, come back to me. I don't know what else to say. I'll wait for your next letter. Write as soon as you can. I want to hear about anything you'd like to tell me. 

With love,  
Jaime

 

September 29th, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

I haven’t heard back from you since my last letter. Are you alright?

Hearing from you literally makes my days brighter. When one of your letters ends up on my desk I spend the rest of the day smiling like an idiot. I hope you feel the same, despite my poor penmanship. Please let me know how you’re doing. I hope that I am reading too much into this. I hope that you are busy or just need a break from letters.

I fear that you are not. Please write to me so I can know that my inner fears are unfounded. That you are safe and happy, and have just been busy lately. You can tell or not tell me anything you like, as always.

With fondness and respect,  
Jaime

 

October 10th, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

Please come back. I miss you. I haven’t seen you with my own eyes in months. The picture you sent still holds its framed place of honor on my desk. I keep all of your letters in my upper drawer. I’ve read each of them at least four times since I began this infernal waiting.

I haven’t heard from you in almost two months. Just come back safe. I miss you. You are the closest friend I have and I can’t remember what your voice sounds like. Please, Brienne. I’ve never begged like this before. I feel like I’m six years old again, waiting for my mother to come home.

Are you alright?

I miss you.

Best wishes,  
Jaime

 

October 27th, 2018  
Brienne,

I have officially called every political connection I have to find word on you. I have lied to more people than I can count to find out what has happened to you. I am not family, you see, so they do not want to tell me. Which is why I have told all of them that I am your boyfriend, soon to be fiancé, and we are madly in love. The lack of contact has made me, your faithful servant, very concerned and I simply must know where you are.

This is how, after ten weeks of playing the sad sack, I finally found out today that you are officially MIA. I don’t know what to do so I’m writing to you again. If you’re out there, alive, this may make it back to you. If you’re not – it doesn’t really matter what happens now. If you are gone, a part of me will be broken. Irreparably. Maybe it’s the part most people would call my conscious.

Maybe it’s my heart.

Please be alive. Find your way home.

Jaime

 

  
November 17th, 2018  
Brienne,

There’s really nothing more for me to say. But here I am, writing anyway. I can’t seem to stop myself. I want to believe that you’re out there, somewhere. Four more months and your status will officially change from “missing in action” to “presumed dead”. I’m not sure I can handle that.

I’m settling into some pathetic life of solitude. In the past year I have fallen under the thrall of your words and without them I am lost. My life is adrift without you to anchor me. I feel the enormity of your loss every day. I haven’t gone anywhere besides the office and my apartment in two weeks. I’m so out of sorts my brother has been calling daily to check on me. The kids have been spending half the week with him and Tysha, but they refuse to give up on me completely, bless them. A few more weeks of this and all the effort I've put into being CEO in the past year will mean nothing. I will be too far-gone to leave the house.

Come back to me. Come home. I need you, Wench. I really do.

Jaime

 

December 9th, 2018  
Dear Brienne,

I prayed for you today. I, Jaime Lannister, (current) CEO of Lannister Co. and King of the Infidels, prayed. If you stay lost much longer, I may actually find the gods. And I don’t think anyone’s ready for that.

Please be okay. On nights like this, even prayer only gets me so far.

Love,  
Jaime

 

December 19th, 2018  
Dear Jaime,

My voice sounds like sandpaper and gravel – but I hear less of it now. I am back from the wilds, minus an ear and a little thigh meat. I’ve been told that I’m no good to fight anymore. With this limp, that’s probably a fair assessment. They want me gone, as soon as I’m well enough to stand. That may yet take a while.

My troop and I were lost in the field for a little over three months. Our radios broke in a storm. I’m glad I studied up on local horticulture at the base before we left. Understanding the shape of leaves saved my life more times that I can count.

We found shelter with locals before the rains began in earnest, but it was touch-and-go for quite a while. I’ll tell you more about it when I’m home. You know how it is. Even lying out on a recovery bed my letters will be censored. They won't even let me call you yet. Gods, I wish I could hear your stupid, snarky voice right now. The only reason they’re letting me post this letter at all is because it won't reach you for another two weeks. As long as I disclose nothing of military import, I can write as much as I like.

Colonel Stark did swear to call you on my behalf. He’s calling all of the returned soldiers’ families, and you’re what I have. Stark is a good man. I hope that you’re kind to him when he reaches you. It’s not his fault they won’t let me near a phone.

General Stannis Baratheon himself came by to debrief six hours after a recon team brought us back to camp. After I told him all the relevant mission details, he informed me that you’ve been calling for an update once a week. It seems that Lannister Co. owns one of the camp’s main medical suppliers, so he has been unable to tell you to shove off the way he wishes to. I told him that I’d pass the message along, but the truth is, I’ve been laughing about it all day.

I am being returned soon – did I mention that? Back to you, it would seem. I’m taking your letters at face value so I hope that you were honest about that invitation.

Your five most recent letters are sitting on my bunk. I’ve read them all three times over. You have made the other soldiers in the recovery room quite jealous. The soldier to the right of me asked if you were my brother. When I said you were not, she asked if you were handsome. When I said that you were, and that you knew it, she sighed at how lucky I was. Halfway around the world and you still make girls melt. Quite a talent, I must admit.

I have three more weeks of bed rest and physical therapy before the doctors will discuss my release so this letter will still reach you before I do. Barely. Hopefully they will allow me near a phone before then. Wait for me – I’ll be showing up on your doorstep any day now. We’ll have to celebrate Midwinter a little late this year. 

Love,  
Brienne

P.S. On behalf of my troop, our thanks to Lannister Co. for the nutritional supplements and ridiculously strong pain meds pumping through these IVs. It’s taken two days for me to finish this letter because I keep drifting off into a blissful sleep.

P.P.S. I missed you too.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

EPILOGUE

 

August 1st, 2021

My dearest Brienne,

As I set out to write this letter I can already picture how you will react upon receiving it. I anticipate an eye roll, and a little smile. You are happy to accept another piece of my brilliant writing, but also find it a little ridiculous since we now live in the same house and sleep in the same bed.

I guess there isn’t much point in me writing supposition. I will just have to wait to witness it. Yes, I do intend to stand beside you the whole time you read this. Get back to reading.

Five years ago today I wrote to you for the first time. My preliminary letter, which I know you have hidden away in one of your old army trunks in the upstairs hall, was an inelegant approach at friendship with a friend of a friend who I had not seen in a long time. Why did I initiate it? To this day I can’t fully tell you. Perhaps it was the “fate” that you don’t believe in.

I know some of the factors that influenced me: I was alone, in a way that I had never been before. My father had just died and my sister had become my rival. My brother was busy with Tysha and beer, and I wanted something else. I wanted to change. I wanted to be better. So I wrote to you.

I remembered you. Even back on our old university soccer team you were a voice of reason, a human overflowing with strength of character, even when you were too shy to recognize it. You fascinated me, but at twenty-three I was too much of an idiot to ever do anything about it. Thank the gods we all grow.

You’ve helped me grow so much. Since that first letter, all the way to now, and hopefully for the rest of my life. You have influenced the good in me. If I have done anything worthwhile, it’s because of you. Yes, I did it of my own free will, but it was you that showed my moral compass where to point, taught my hands how to serve, and made my brain realize that helping others is always valuable.

The purpose of this letter is simple. Now that we’re not in the city anymore, our house is rather large. It’s so quiet. I have been contemplating solutions to this dilemma. Tyrion is busy with Tysha, so I don’t think he’s available. The kids are off at college now. Sapphire, while great company, is such a quiet, peaceful thing she barely takes up the floor space she covers while lying down.

The most logical solution I can find to our lack of noise is a three-part plan. Part one is this letter, accompanied by a question. Part two is a party, quite large, where we will throw all caution to the wind and you will be socially obligated to join me on the dance floor. Part three is the creation, or incorporation, of a few more mouths to jabber away (don’t worry – I shall teach them to talk with my vigor rather than your prudence). In this simple way, our house might end up quite full.

What I mean to say is – Lieutenant Brienne Tarth, will you marry me? My love will be as steadfast as Dragonstone and as endless as Evenfall’s blue sea. You are the world to me. I see every ocean in your eyes, every blade of grass in your hair, every whispering wind carried on your voice. You are my world, and I will love you until the day my body returns to dust. Please marry me. You know I’m useless without you.

Hopelessly, helplessly, faithfully yours,  
Jaime

 

August 1st, 2021  
Dear J,

Of course I’ll marry you. Please include some of this sap in our vows, as almost no one seems to believe me when I insist you are a hopeless romantic. 

Love,  
B

**Author's Note:**

> This was sort of a monster for me to write, and I kept putting it down and coming back to it over the past two years. There were a few major plot changes along the way, so I hope I did an alright job covering any potential holes. All my love to Nana and Astarmagnitudesix for being my beta readers at different points along the way. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this! It was ultimately pretty fun to write.


End file.
